The prettiest Flowers bloom in December
by emergingwithgrace
Summary: There it was. A washed up body of the once beautiful, mysterious, and infamous teenage girl that's picture shown bright on milk cartons, tv sets, and billboards. Now looking anything but lively. Her blue eyes, now matching the dark night sky river behind her, burning deep in my memory. Violet Rose Craven.


**Important: This is a fanfiction based off the famous and phenomenally written story 'Looking For Alaska'. I'm not**  
**the best of writers, and I know that, nor do I think I'm a John Green's level. I wrote this story to help bring**  
**awareness to Depression and signs of Depression.**

**Thank you!**  
**-Frenchie**

**PS: Some words and grammar mistakes will be common in my writing, sorry I'm not sorry. Tehe.**

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**The prettiest Flowers bloom in December**

There it was. A washed up body of the once beautiful, mysterious,  
and infamous teenage girl that's picture shown bright on milk cartons,  
tv sets, and billboards. Now looking anything but lively.  
Her blue eyes, now matching the dark night sky river behind her, burning  
deep in my memory. Violet Rose Craven.

August  
August 1st| 153 days earlier

It was no surprise when an envelope for the highest rated college in Chicago  
came in the mail.

My mother stood in the dinning room, sorting through mail with an envelope  
opener, stopping every few seconds to open one, take a brief glance, then  
pass it to the over-flowing trash can. She paused, taking in a deep breath,  
causing me to worry and run by her side. "Are you okay?" I asked. She held  
up an enclosed large college pamphlet with a smaller-than-usual envelope  
slipped inside. I sat down in the chair beside her, while she excitedly  
stabbed at the paper, like a kid on Christmas day. "ALEC!" my mother yelled,  
spooking me. "You got accepted!"

You see, my mother is much more happier than I because well, she and my  
father fought and fought, never directly, for my love through money. And  
apparently, taking me away from my comfort zone, friends and dog, one of  
them would win. And my supposedly mother did.

Steve, my moms lawyer douche bag of a father figure, came running in.  
He wore a blue tuxedo, that matched my mothers form-fitting dress. Dinner  
party at the Garniers. Yay. "Good job, Alex." Steve said in his best dad-  
prouder-than-a-puppy-with-a-bone voice. "It's Alec, Steven." I said, conde-  
scdenginly. "Steve." my mother corrected me giving me, what I like to  
call, The Evil Eye. I tried my best not to roll my eyes at her, which  
seemed harder than I thought. "Aren't you excited about attending?"  
"Super, duper excited!" A hint of sarcasm on top seemed to stop the conver-  
sation in it's tracks.

Later that evening, we arrived at a large Victorian styled mansion. Steve  
pulled into the round-about, parked, and handed the keys to the butler.  
"Honey," my mother said shooting Steve a look. "I don't think that's their  
job." Steve ignored her as usual when she said something he didn't approve  
of. My mother stopped and turned to me. "Aleczander, would you mind parking  
the truck for me?" I held out my hand and she dropped her spare set of keys,  
making sure Steve didn't notice. He hated her having a spare.

When the truck was parked off to the side of the steel gates, I  
stepped inside of the big mansion doors, my feet h hitting the hard wooden  
floors. Christopher Steve Garnier, my best friend,sat on the mahogany  
steps of the stairs, his bleach blonde hair wavy and hanging just above his  
brown eyes. He and I always laughed at the fact that he had the middle name  
of my soon to be step dad, back when I enjoyed Steve's company..  
Chris must haveve noticed me, because before I knew it he was walking over.  
He was always taller, about two inches. 6'4. Minus two from that and you'd  
get 6'2, my height. "Long time no see." Chris said, his voice having a bit  
of a southern accent. "I don't think that's how that goes." I laughed.

Chris' parents were junkies and after his three older brothers headed off to  
the navy, Chris decided to ditch his hillbilly life style and head off to  
the Bronx to live with his aunt and uncle. His little sister, Sophie, who  
was about sixteen, apparently moved in with a friend of his. And after a  
long reunion, I learned Chris was going to attend the same college I was and  
on a scholarship. Not only was he two inches taller, but two times smarter.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing better." I said.  
"Enough of the mooshy stuff." Chris said and patted my back. "But thanks, man."  
He whispered in my ear.


End file.
